


August, 10 Years Later

by medlli



Series: in memoria [2]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amnesia, Angst, Canon Compliant, Coffee Shops, Complicated Relationships, Future Fic, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Multi, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Retrograde Amnesia, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spoilers, also me: writes this shit, me: I'll never write a chaptered story again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medlli/pseuds/medlli
Summary: And it's strange; he feels as though a "Congratulations!" is in order, as though a "Welcome back!" should be said.But with the history they've had, it's not quite that simple.





	1. prologue: eponymous

**Author's Note:**

> _I want to show the future I've drawn to[you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN8TvvhnPc0)._

 

— **_August 21st, 2026 - 21:00_**

He glances up from wiping down the countertop when the door jingles open. “Hey, Akira. I finished draining out the machines, so I’m gonna leave now, if that’s okay,” Mishima says, one foot already out the door.

Akira nods, back to cleaning. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

Though Leblanc is still the same size in the same place it had always been, joining Haru’s chain of cafes and renovating the place into a retro coffee shop of yesteryear had brought about an unprecedented surge of popularity, one the cafe had never seen before. After Sojiro’s retirement, the cafe had been passed onto Akira (Futaba had no desire to take ownership of it; she would much rather help out behind the scenes), and from there, Haru had requested making it the founding cafe of the brand. As homage, the chain itself had been named Leblanc; the skills Sojiro had given her were irreplaceable, and despite his departure from barista life, she had insisted he be honoured for his service, the name a permanent mark of his influence.

Near the door now with a broom, he smiles bittersweetly at the fixture that had remained for ten years now, tidying up around it. After his argument with Haru about paying for all of the renovations, they had then gone back and forth over what should stay and what should go… but there had been two things they absolutely agreed upon.

The first had been the installation of two windows downstairs to dispel the dank atmosphere; they flanked the only door into the building, outside street light spilling out onto the booth in front of one and the memorial in front of the other.

The second had been the grave honouring Akechi Goro’s death. Even after the transfer of ownership of the cafe, Sojiro maintained it on the days Akira could not, visiting daily in observance of the cafe. Before Akira had even thought to broach the subject, Haru made it very clear that it would remain. “Even if it clashes with the design of the cafe, even if people think it shouldn’t be out in the open, it stays. Everyone else may have forgotten him, but we won’t. We never will.”

He snaps himself out of his reverie, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat from the memory.

With the last bit of tidying up completed for the next business day, Akira steps outside into the humid air of a Tokyo summer night. Morgana greets him, his “owner” picking him up and placing him in the shoulder bag he carries before they depart.

(The more things change, the more they stay the same.)

“Ready to head home?” the feline says, making himself cozy in the bag. “I dunno about you, but I’m beat. Being the protector of Yongen-jaya is hard work! I deserve a raise for all that I do, you know.”

Akira snorts, rolling his eyes at the discussion they seem to have nearly every week. “I might be the manager, but Haru’s the one that has to approve raises. And I don’t think either of us really know how to convert fish or sushi into a ‘living wage’ for a cat.”

“I’m no cat! Just a human stuck in a cat body!”

“Right, right. Tell you what: I need to stop by Shibuya to pick up some things before we go home. We’ll see what they have at Triple Seven and get you some convenience store sushi. Good?”

“Well, they won’t have fatty tuna, but fine. I _suppose_ that will have to be a suitable per diem raise for your hardest-working employee.”

The human laughs, patting Morgana’s head affectionately before it disappears into the abyss of the bag.

They spend about an hour and a half in Shibuya, the lengthy amount of time accrued mostly because of the number of people walking the streets that evening. Summer break is in full swing for students, so the city is fuller than usual; there had been many tourists out and about as well.

The Station Square is the same story, Akira moving the bag to his front so that he can keep a protective hold on it; the last thing he wants is for Morgana to get crushed in his efforts to sift through the masses (and he is sure the feline would wish for the same). “Sheesh, shouldn’t these people be in bed already?” he laments, poking his head out to observe the square happenings. “There’s way too many people out tonight!”

“It’s a summer Friday.”

On their way to the underground, a most curious thing occurs. Hustling past those coming to and fro, the pair catches wind of a voice, gentle, but loud enough to cut through the usual chatter, apologising for bumping into others. “Ah, sorry. So sorry. Oh, I apologize. You see, I would just like to—oh, excuse me! That wasn’t intentional.”

At the sound, Akira’s blood runs cold; looking down at the cat in his bag, he knows they share the same thought—that voice is far too familiar to ignore.

“Well… it’s on the way to the stairs and we’ll probably be waiting on our line for a while…” Morgana wants this burning question answered just as much as he does, if not more.

He parts through the crowd, movements growing faster and faster the closer he gets to the source, a flurry of hasty legs and forceful hands. Unlike the voice he chases, he speaks no apology to those he offends, currently of a one-track mind.

The furious flurry clears in an instant when he finds what he had thought he would never see again: a man of lengthy brunet hair stands in a tan coat that appears just a tad too small for his form, and much too warm for this weather. The black slacks do not quite fit him either, as the entirety of his ankles are exposed; the shoes seem to fit just fine, however.

Those that walk by criticize his appearance, though a few stray comments can be heard about how he is surprisingly handsome. Some others murmur about how he appears rather dazed and confused; “Is he okay?” “Do you think he’s one of those crazy homeless people?” “His clothes don’t really fit…” “If it weren’t for his outfit, he’d be really cute…”

Akira scoffs at the ignorant chatter, feet moving again when the man begins to walk away. He catches up to the retreating figure, taking hold of his shoulder and tugging, spinning him around.

Staring at each other, a light of recognition flashes in reddish-brown eyes… but they soon go dull in question and confusion. “Oh. Hello there. Did you need something? Unfortunately, if it’s money you need, I don’t currently—”

“Akechi?”

The light returns, but leaves as quickly as it comes, just as before. The man glances all around him, then back to the one that had grabbed him, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I-I’m sorry. Are you referring to me? Is… Is that my name?”

Akira blinks rapidly at this reply before peeking down at the pair of blue eyes glinting back in his bag. Snorting, he looks back to Goro, giving him a look of petulance—though a strain of worry plagues his thoughts. “Akechi, I know it’s been a while, but you don’t need to play dumb. No need to act like you don’t remember me. It’s me.” He pauses. “...You know. ‘Akira?’”

Goro tilts his head slightly, shaking his head no with a lack of understanding. “I wish I could say that that sounds familiar, but it truly doesn’t. And now that you’ve called me ‘Akechi’ twice, I’ll assume that _that_ is, in fact, my name. It sounds like a family name, though, not a given name… Am I correct in that assumption?”

The barista takes a step back in shock, the string of deductions validating the great concern he had hoped he would not need. “Oh, no…” he can hear murmured from his bag, heavy dread hollowing a pit in his stomach.

Akechi Goro had returned, but with none of his memories intact.


	2. fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO
> 
> didn't post anything on the prologue bc it was supposed to be all mysterious and ominous and super serious etc etc
> 
> anyway so this is my first attempt at a chaptered story in... phew like four years??? I've literally only ever finished **ONE** chaptered story out of the now nine I've ever written {that's an 11% completion rate for all you nerds out there} so for the sake of saving this one from lowering that to 10%, I will _try_ to force myself to update this story between Sunday and Monday evening
> 
> (I honestly just need to keep a consisting writing schedule but alas, I only do passion works)
> 
> next week {the one starting with the 23rd to clarify} will not see an update as I've _teeeechnically_ updated twice this week so
> 
> gotta catch up on two requests I'm... super late on fulfilling lmao :')

— **_August 21st, 2026 - 23:30_ **

“Well, here’s home,” Akira announces with a flourish of his hand as he opens the front door. He flicks on the light using the switch adjacent to the door, allowing sight into the previously dim abode. Goro walks through first, at the apartment owner’s behest, twirling around in wonder.

The apartment lies on a well-lit alley in Ginza; the lack of others out and about around the area gives one the impression that the place is rather quiet. Inside, immediately after the front door and the lip leading into the rest of the house lies the kitchen and living room, right across from each other. The walls are a soft, dull maroon while the floors of the living room are a shiny, polished cherrywood, a beige L-shaped couch and rectangular coffee table five feet away from the half wall; said half wall dividing the two rooms is slate grey, the floors of the kitchen behind it a lacquered chrome. The appliances of the kitchen are all black, while the walls here match the color of the half wall, the cabinets matching the colour of the living room floor. The table and its chairs that rest up against said half wall are red, the legs of both and the sitting half of the seats black. No pictures appear to be on any of the walls, half one included, though a square mirror hangs on the wall to his right.

“Wow, this is quite the place you’ve got here. For a moment, I worried for my safety, but… looks like you were trustworthy after all. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay with you.” His hair, now at shoulder length, obscures his face as he bows formally.

“Where the hell else would you have gone?” Akira mutters to himself as he scratches his cheek, clapping his guest’s shoulder on his way past. “Are you hungry?” he asks as he heads to the kitchen, nearly a kitchen _ette_ in size. Before he begins his peruse through ingredients for dinner, he sets the shoulder bag down on the dining table, taking the bag of sushi and trading it for some of the other contents in the fridge.

“Ah, yes, I’m actually quite famished—oh, hello! Were you in his bag the whole time?” Goro watches as a black and white cat pokes his head out of the makeshift carrier, the rest of his body exiting in quick procession. “And what’s this one’s name?”

“I’m Morgana,” the animal speaks while its gaze does not meet him… at least it sure sounds as though the voice comes from the animal… he really hopes it does _not_.

“A-Akira-san—and I apologize for using your given name so soon, so informally, but you haven’t given me your family name—I… this may sound a bit… _out there_ , but did your pet just…?”

At the question, it is almost as if an alarm goes off in the barista’s head, abandoning the rice cooker he had been in the middle of throwing the contents from the night before into a wok, snatching up the cat. “Forgive me,” he whispers to Morgana as he holds him under his arm. Grasping the feline’s lower jaw, he moves it in sync with own words, his practiced impression of Morgana’s voice in use for his sudden ventriloquy.

“Of course not! My owner just likes to give me a voice whenever people ask about me. I’m a chatty cat, so sometimes he pretends to interpret what he thinks I’m saying.” Akira laughs while setting down the “pet” which swipes at his hand, trying his best to cover its nervous undertones. “Sorry if that startled you. It’s funnier when I take people by surprise with it. Right, Morgana?”

Luckily, the cat has enough sense to know to go along with the facade. “M-M… mreow!” he replies from the floor. Goro studies it with a skeptical look. “It has such an odd meow… It sounds almost fake.”

“He’s a unique cat, what can I say?” Akira shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage before returning to his abandoned task of cooking. “Anyway, make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table if you wanna watch TV.”

Once the guest moves from the front door and preoccupies himself with what appears upon the screen, the other two have a hushed chat. Perched on the counter beside where Akira cuts vegetables, Morgana speaks first. “He’s really gone and forgotten everything… what are we gonna do? How did he even come back? Didn’t Futaba sense his signal disappear in Shido’s Palace!?”

The human brings a finger to his lips, a soft shushing sound pushed through touching teeth at the slight rise in volume. “I know just as much as you do, if not _less_. But for now, until we figure out how to handle this, you have to act like a normal cat. We don’t know how trying to remind him of what happened will affect him, so let’s just play it safe for now.”

“Do you think we should tell the others?”

With no hesitation whatsoever, Akira nods. “There’s no way we can deal with this alone. And, to be honest, they’re a part of bringing his memory back; he has a right to know his past. But… let’s wait before we do. Who knows if he’ll end up overwhelmed by everything there is to tell him? At the very least, he needs to get acclimated to coming back in itself first. A decade is a _very_ long time to be gone.”

“Were you saying something, Akira-san?”

The barista glances back, shaking his head. “Just muttering a few things to the cat. They make for good listeners when you’re trying to organize your thoughts.”

Goro’s brow creases with concern, as if _he_ is the one that should be worried for the other, but he does not press any further. Instead, seeing the other man chop away, he asks, “Ah, is there anything I can do to help? I know you told me to make myself comfortable, but I would be remiss if I didn’t show my appreciation for your kindness.”

Akira does not look back this time, merely shaking his head no. “This won’t take long. Stir-fry is easy enough to make solo. If you don’t feel like staying seated you can lo—” He cuts himself off, reminded of the conversation he had just had with Morgana. ‘ _If he finds the photo album, that might be a problem._ ’ “—looook over my cooking and see if it’s to your tastes?” Both he and the cat subtly wince at the awkward save, but it seems to be enough to satisfy the former detective.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline; I’d been standing out at that square for quite a while. I hope that’s alright.”

“You don’t have to follow my suggestions, Akechi… -san.” He has to remind himself of the level of formality they had returned to, especially what with his guest imposing it so heavily from the start. “That’s what they are. Suggestions.” The one who currently fishes chicken out of the freezer chortles. “You don’t have to appease me to stay in my house.” ‘ _Can’t really let you go even if I wanted to anyway._ ’

“Oh, well, thank you,” a relieved tone can be heard in his sighed reply, as though he had been treading carefully the whole time. Only Morgana sees the way his shoulders lose tension. “As far as your cooking is concerned, you appear to have at least some level of skill, so I’m sure it’ll taste fine.”

The now chef chortles again, but says nothing this time.

About twenty minutes later, Akira sets the dining table, a smaller plate placed on the floor next to the seat he always takes. He removes the package of sushi from the fridge, opening it and setting a few rolls onto the plate.

Morgana, of course, immediately takes great offense to this. “You’re having me eat from the _floor_?” he hisses softly, bright blue daggers directed at his “owner.”

“Listen, we just talked about this! Until further notice, you’ve gotta act like a real cat, remember? You don’t think he’ll question a cat sitting at a table?”

Realising an undisputable point had been made, the feline huffs, grumbling to himself about how he had better get some fatty tuna after all this is resolved.

“Food’s ready,” he speaks up to the one on the couch, retrieving the wok from the stove and plating an equal share to both sides.

“Is that sushi? For a _cat_?”

“He’s got expensive tastes. It’s just convenience store sushi, anyway.” He returns the wok to the stove, sitting down across from Goro, who had apparently waited for him before touching his food. “Oh. You could have started. Thanks, though.”

“I may not be the host, but I’d still like to be polite. After all, isn’t a meal better shared?”

‘ _You  may have lost your memory, but I see your charisma never left_ ,’ Akira thinks, a gentle laugh pushing through his nose.

The pair eats in silence for the span of seven minutes, the brunet the first to speak. “Akira-san—and I’d actually like to resolve that now— you never did share your family name with me. While I am ever so grateful for your hospitality, we haven’t known each other very long, at least, not that I can recall, it seems. So, think of this as a fresh start then, if you will. Now that we have just begun acquainting ourselves with each other—again—would you share that with me, please?”

“For someone who can’t even remember their own, you’re quite troubled over mine.”

“W-Well, you see, I-I just don’t want to overstep any boundaries and violate customs—”

“Akechi-san, relax. It’s just a bit of teasing. We’re ‘acquainting’ ourselves, remember? I know why you asked.” Laughing quietly at the mildly flustered look his guest wears, he continues. “Kurusu. My family name. Kurusu Akira, that’s me.”

At the sound of the host’s full name, a trance falls upon Goro, eyes glazing over as he appears essentially catatonic. “... Akechi-san?” said host murmurs, as if the vibration of his voice through the air will shatter him. Standing up from the seat, he walks over to his guest, left hand to right shoulder as the other lies flat on the table. He leans down slightly to get a closer look. “Akechi-san? … Goro?”

His eyes dart all over the other man’s form, brow creasing as he lowers his head, spotting the ever so slightest movement of his lips, the only thing in motion of his otherwise rigid state.

‘ _Is he… saying something?_ ’ With lips now to his ear, he freezes, a sensation of dread washing over him for the second time tonight.

“... _Joker_ …”

The moment Akira backs away, it is though the action had been the snap of fingers releasing the hypnotised from a mesmerising hold. “Wha—I-I—” Goro looks around, lost and distressed. Seeing the head of black grounds him, exchanging his own look of worry with the one his host sports… as well as light fear? Odd…

“Ah, I’m—I’m sorry, I apologise, I just… this, ah, this happened at the square as well when I saw where I was, I… it-it feels as though there’s something at the fringes of my memory, but I can’t quite grasp it… your name, it felt so…” He takes a deep breath, a hand to his heart as he contemplates his navel.

“Don’t… don’t sweat it. At least this tells us that your memory is somewhere in that head of yours.” He offers a pat of the shoulder he previously rested on, glimpsing down at the cat who stares back.

This had certainly become a matter they could not handle alone.

 

* * *

 

Akira wakes at five in the morning, spending half an hour on a bath and another ten on a swift, silent breakfast. Though he had offered numerous times for him to take the bed, Goro had doubled down on his insistence toward taking the couch. He walks over to the back of the couch, peering down at the figure that groans something in his sleep before rolling over, back to the television.

‘ _Well, Yusuke probably wasn’t gonna remember those clothes anyway…_ ’ Setting up for bed, he had sifted through spare clothes, finding that none of his clothes were going to suit his guest (comfortably, as far as size was concerned; Goro would have probably taken anything he gave him, really). But in the back of his closet lied a forgotten travel bag Yusuke had yet to retrieve after one of his many crashes at Akira’s place.

(Why the artist _still_ insists on roughing it here upon returns from art shows when he had a perfectly good home—and wife—in Roppongi is beyond him. Being closer to the airport by ten minutes seems pretty negligible to him, but regardless—)

His assumption that being an inch shorter than the artist would not make a difference had been correct; the change in Goro’s build equated to Yusuke’s healthy weight gain, thus allowing the clothes in the bag to fit perfectly.

He makes a few other preparations before his departure—namely, leaving a note on the coffee table for Goro, to alleviate any misgivings he may have about where his host had gone.  
“ _Help yourself to anything in the cabinets or the fridge. I should be back around 1800 today. I left toiletries and a towel on the counter in the bathroom. If anything else comes up call me with the phone in the kitchen at +81 x-xxxx-xxxx._

— A.”

‘ _Didn’t think a landline would ever see any use in this day and age, but here we are._ ’

 

The ride to work is silent between the human and his cat, the gravity of the situation hitting them now that the next day had come around and they left the house. “I… It all felt like a dream… one long, really weird, lucid dream…,” Morgana mumbles, voicing the thought that Akira’s brain struggles to comprehend.

His uncertainty with how to proceed from here and his worry over how Goro will fare without him there spells “distracted” to Mishima. “Akira, that’s the third order you’ve messed up today. You feelin’ alright? You never get orders wrong…”

“Sorry. I, uh…  just worried about the end of the month and quarter coming up. You know how Haru gets about the end of quarters especially. ‘Nice numbers to show investors’ and all that.” He shrugs, breathing an internal sigh of relief when his coworker falls for the excuse.

(Well, to be fair, it _is_ actually a great matter now that he reminds himself.)

“Oh, crap, you’re right! You can come up with some fancy, like, end-of-summer special, right? Lemme get a picture and forward it to the other stores with the ingredients, then post it on the company’s media accounts; try to remember it has to be easy enough for all the sites to make this time!”

The taller of the two laughs. “I won’t go overboard like I did in April, don’t worry.” That Unicorn Frappe had been their best-selling drink to date, though.

 

But while the excuse for the blunders in his performance had worked the first day, they had not been of any use to him once the fifth day of his shoddy work came around. _And_ , of course, it just _had_ to be a day when the big boss was volunteering to help out.

“Akira,” Haru says, intercepting him in the attic as he grabs some refills for the espresso machine, “you’ve reached a record number of wrong orders in the history of the chain. You even did worse than Mishima when that group of collegiate swimmers swarmed us two years ago!” The incredulousness of his feat can be heard very prominently in her voice. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, turning around to meet her once he had the bags in hand. “I’m fine.”

She quirks an eyebrow, clearly not buying the response he tries to sell. “You sure? Personally, I think you look rather distracted. I don’t know what’s on your mind—you tend not to tell me—but it must be very important if it’s affecting you this much.” She approaches him, gently plucking the bags from his hold. “How’s this: since I can manage in your absence, I’m sending you home early, and I’ll take Morgana with me today. I won’t dock your pay for the day either.

“Also, you hardly ever take your weekends off, even after I made them mandatory for you—oh, you didn’t think I actually watch the security footage?—and whatever this is seems to need all your attention and energy. So, I want you to take tomorrow off as well. We’ll see you back here Friday morning, okay? Enjoy your vacation.”

“I can’t believe you caught me. I was sure I rigged those cameras too,” he fusses, frowning. “But what about Makoto? Weren’t you talking with Mina about how you had a date with her tonight?”

She waves off his question, bumping him with her hip. “She won’t mind me closing. She never leaves the precinct on time anyway; I’ll probably get there before her even _with_ closing. Now get going, mister! Your distraction awaits!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes her before he jogs down the stairs in compliance with her orders; though she had retained her sweet-as-can-be demeanor, the terror she instilled when one argued with her over a decision she would not change had remained as well. Trying to fight with her, especially over a day and a half off, would have been both a pointless and lost battle; he had learned _very_ early on into their time as lovers that conceding defeat was typically the easier option.

(And for someone like him, who _loves_ to negotiate, there had been a reason their relationship worked better as friends and business partners instead.)

On the Ginza line, he allows himself to fall lost in thought, finally able to truly consider the idea that had come to him two days prior. He and Morgana had hit a wall in what actions to take next now that Goro knew their names, his own name, where they were, and the year. Since then, another catatonic episode had not occurred, but the two still wished to proceed with caution.

Though Akira had agreed that they tell the others soon, a week had not felt like a decent buffer between the former detective’s return and the reintroduction to his past life… but with the secret eating away at him the way it had, it appeared that there were not many options left to take—if any other ones were left at all.

So, with a deep breath, he texts the group as he stands outside his front door.

 **Kurusu Akira [14:12]:** _Is everyone back in town_

 **Kitagawa Futaba [14:12]:** _yusuke comes back tomorrow morning. what’s up?_

 **Takamaki Ann [14:14]:** _My trip ended two days ago. Everyone’s back in town. Did you want to meet-up? We can have it at my place this time! :)_

 **Kurusu Akira [14:14]:** _No_

 **Kurusu Akira [14:15]:** _Can everyone come to Leblanc after hours tomorrow_

 **Kurusu Akira [14:15]:** _I_

 **Kurusu Akira [14:15]:** _Have something to share with everyone_

 **Sakamoto Ryuji [14:17]:** _This sounds serious. Ann and me can make it though._

 **Kitagawa Futaba [14:17]:** _we’ll be there. doubt haru and makoto will have any issues either, especially since one practically lives there._

 **Kitagawa Futaba [14:18]:** _mind telling us what this is all about, tho?_

He debates sharing the news now, but if his friends’ reactions are anything like his and Morgana’s, they would need the time to recover from the shock—the time they themselves had not had the luxury of.

Encouraging himself with another long inhale and heavy exhale, he replies to Futaba’s question.

 **Kurusu Akira [14:21]:** _Akechi_

 **Kurusu Akira [14:21]:** _Akechi… came back._

The switching of his phone to vibrate immediately follows, and as he feels the device in his pocket rumble with fury, he steps through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a reminder: this story updates every **Sunday or Monday evening** , but _will not be updating next week_
> 
> thank you!

**Author's Note:**

>  **related fics/series to this story:**  
>  _most important:_  
>  \- [in a silver garden with you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11080386)
> 
>  _supplemental material/context provider:_  
>  \- [thunderous flamenco](http://archiveofourown.org/series/734184)  
> \- [keen ice](http://archiveofourown.org/series/765339)
> 
>  
> 
> [personal twitter](http://www.twitter.com/lesimperatrices)  
> 


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